


At Death's Door

by DisneyPrincess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 24 year old Dean, AU, Death, Death Castiel, Fluffy, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Sad, Sam in college, and a little angst, in attempts to get dates, lots of dying, maybe puppies, over and over, regular life, shmoopy, so technically it's cute death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3180473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisneyPrincess/pseuds/DisneyPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean thought it was going to be a regular day like any other when he woke up that morning. He hadn't considered the possibility that he might die, let alone meet his soul mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Death's Door

Dean tied the sleeves of his jumpsuit around his waist and wiped his hands on his tank top. He forced down his scowl. He could hardly be angry that he was covered in grease when he worked at a garage. "I'm gonna grab some grub!" He called back to Bobby as he slipped outside. He grumbled something in response but Dean was already out of ear shot and jogging toward the Impala. He slid in and started it, grinning as Back in Black started playing. 

There was a burger joint down the road that had a bacon cheeseburger to die for. Unfortunately, Bobby only gave him a thirty minute break so he had almost no time to get it and get back. She deserved to be savored, not wolfed down while Dean sped back to Bobby's. He was sure Bobby wouldn't care if he took longer, he payed Dean so well that thirty minutes was all he allowed himself. 

He parked quickly in the lot across the street and jumped out. There was never any parking in front. As Dean shot across three lanes of traffic, wincing as a horn blew at him. He reached the side walk, just as a truck breezed by. It didn't touch him, but he felt how close it had come. He really needed to be more careful. Letting out a breath, he vowed to try that out tomorrow and stepped inside the brick building. 

As he stepped into Grandstand Burgers, Dean was blasted with warm air and the scent of grilling meat. Honestly, if being a fry cook paid better, he might have considered the job. But he couldn't take care of himself and Sammy on that salary and he knew it. Stanford was one pricey son of a bitch, but his little brother deserved the best and damn it all if Dean wasn't going to do everything he could to give him that. 

The line that stretched half way to the door on most days was infinitesimally shorter, and Dean took that as a sign it was going to be a good day. He whistled to himself as he stood in line, pulling a ten from his pocket. The girl at the cash register was new. She was cute, and maybe a little young for him, but hey, flirting wasn't against the law. 

"Hey sweetheart, can I get a Bacon cheese burger with fries and a coke?" He asked, leaning on the counter and shooting her a winning smile. He didn't want to brag, but he'd gotten it down to a science. It was almost too easy. 

"Sure, no problem honey," she said with a wink. Dean watched her none too subtly as she rang him up, took his money, and handed him a receipt with a phone number scribbled on it. While she rushed off to get his order, Dean moved to the pick up side of the counter and followed her butt through the kitchen. Not bad.

After retrieving his lunch, delivering a false promise to call, and checking his cell phone, he was out the door. The phone number found it's way into a trashcan as he tried to find a space between the oncoming cars to cross. He could go all the way down to the cross walk, but that was in the opposite direction of the car and he would be so late. It wasn't worth it. 

Dean saw his chance and took it, sprinting across the lanes. He didn't even feel it when the semi hit him. 

\-----

When Dean came to, he felt fine. Logically he knew he'd just been hit by a car and he should have been in pain, but he wasn't in any at all. In fact, that wasn't the only thing that was odd. As he pried his eyes open, he realized that the street was completely deserted. And silent. There were no cars, no people. The only thing on the asphalt was a crushed body that Dean thought looked eerily familiar. 

"Fuck!" 

Dean jumped to his feet and spun around at the sound of another person. When he caught sight of the owner of the voice, he couldn't help how unsettled he was. The man seemed almost too normal to be there. He was dressed in a suit and trench coat. Like an accountant or something else just as boring. Hair parted just so. But there were qualities that made Dean hesitate to write him off. His eyes, they were different. They seemed too bright to be real. And he had an unnatural stillness about him.

He didn't look like he belonged in Dean's weird thing. He didn't really know what was going on. Maybe he was on some serious drugs in the hospital that made him hallucinate or dream crazy dreams. Yeah, and he was just imagining his body on as roadkill. And this guy who was scowling at him was just a figment of his imagination. 

"What do you think you are doing?" He asked neutrally. The man approached Dean, stepping over his corpse, and Dean retreated. Even though it was all a dream, Dean was unsettled by those cold eyes and voice. "Do you think yourself special? That you do not have to listen to fate? When it is your time to go, I shall collect, but no sooner. Do you understand Winchester?" 

Dean froze despite the man advancing on him. "How do you know my name?" Then of course he realized that it was his dream and everyone knew everything about him. Stupid question. The man laughed humorlessly and stopped a foot away from him.

"I know everyone's name. Now come so I can send you back," he demanded, extending a palm. "I am on quite a tight schedule so I would appreciate speed."

Dean cracked a smile but made no move. Taking the man's hand seemed like a sure fire way to end the dream, but Dean had seemed to put a lot of work into that persona. Intimidating as he was, the man was interesting. Maybe he could stay a little longer. "Well it's only fair you tell me yours then." The man blinked but did not move a muscle. 

"My name is not of consequence. Now if you would simply take my hand, I could return you to your body. It was not yet your time to die." Dean nodded like it was all a very serious issue. 

"Look I have a strict policy about stranger danger, so if you want me to come, you're gonna have to give it up," Dean goaded him with a wink. His dream friend seemed to have virtually no sense of humor though. The man simply scowled and crossed his arms, irritation flickering before his eyes. 

"I believe we're past the point of danger seeing as you're already dead. And I am not obligated to revive you. I could simply leave you hear to become an unsettled spirit," he explained, wiping his features clean and pulling out a blackberry from his coat pocket. "Honestly, I'm so busy this is hardly worth the trouble." he added.

Dean rolled his eyes. A bit of a tight ass, that one. "Aww, loosen up. I just feel rude not knowing what to call you, is all." It wasn't a complete lie. Dean did feel at a disadvantage, and even though it was all fake, he really wanted that name. He felt like it was important.

The man seemed to droop slightly. "Very well. I'm sure you will forget it soon enough." Dean smiled victoriously as the man approached him. "Close your eyes." He ordered. Dean obeyed. This was the weirdest dream he'd ever had. 

Then nothing happened.

He shifted from foot to foot. He felt kind of stupid just standing there with his eyes closed. And Dean was well known for his impatience. So he cracked open an eye just as the man was leaning closer. He was so shocked, he stood frozen as the man placed a hand on his forearm and gently pressed their lips together. 

Dean didn't have time to to be wonder what the hell was going on. Suddenly, cold air was forcing it's way down his wind pipe, sliding down into his lungs. But it didn't feel like it was supposed to. It was too cold. Spreading through his body. Starting at his lips. He couldn't see them but he knew they were blue. 

Then he realized it wasn't air, but ice. A solid thing, moving through his veins, slicing him from the inside. It was filling up space in his chest, making it impossible to get any oxygen. He clawed at his chest frantically as he fell to his knees. Everywhere was cold. Everything hurt. He couldn't breathe. 

Then he blacked out. 

\-----

Castiel.

Dean shot up, breathing frantically and looking down at his chest. He wasn't freezing, he wasn't torn, he could breathe. The huge relief he felt was cut off by the incredible noise around him. He wasn't in a hospital like he'd thought, but in the middle of the street. He was sitting on the asphalt as dozens of cars around him honked wildly, including the Semi that he was sure had hit him. 

He shot to his feet in shock and raced onto the sidewalk. Immediately traffic resumed, vehicles speeding as off as if he hadn't just been there a moment ago. But he had. And his lunch was in the street, squashed, to prove it. So how in the hell was he standing on the sidewalk still 3-dimensional? 

And how had he had that so called dream? Castiel, yes Dean was sure that was his name. He'd woken with it on his lips.That man couldn't have been real. He had to have been a figment of Dean's imagination. He'd said Dean was dead and clearly that hadn't happened or else he wouldn't have been standing there on the side of the street trying to slow his heart. 

So the only logical explanation was that the semi stopped just before hitting Dean, or barely tapping him, causing him to hit his head on the street and knock out. And even though it didn't sound right to his ears, Dean couldn't begin to wrap his mind around anything else. He yanked his cell from his pockets and felt his breath freeze once more. 

There was no way it was only 1:50.

That meant no time at all had passed. What had felt like several minutes had only been seconds. Okay, so he had just been out for a few seconds. It all still made sense, he just had to try not to think about it. He would forget his odd little experience had even happened and no one would be the wiser. 

As Dean rushed back to his baby, he realized that there was no way he could do that. Every time he blinked he saw blue eyes. Every trench coat drew his attention. Castiel was fake. He just needed to see the man in real life who had inspired the dream. Then he could rid himself of any doubt that it hadn't been real. 

Except Dean knew he would find no such stranger. If he had seen a man like Castiel before, he would have taken notice. He appreciated the finer things in life, and Castiel definitely fit into that category. Shaking that thought from his head, Dean started the car and raced back to the yard. If he was a little more careful than usual, it had nothing to do with his near death experience. 

Bobby didn't even look up from the book he was reading at his desk when Dean walked in. He headed right past the man into the garage and popped the hood of the first car in his row. He just needed to get to work. A little elbow grease would erase those eyes, or the moment just before the pain had begun when Dean had thought kissing that strange man hadn't been so bad. 

But it was hopeless. He poured oil down the wrong chute, replaced a battery that was perfectly fine, and cut himself on a jagged edge. At the last mistake, Dean growled and tossed the rag in his hand to the floor. He stalked to the bathroom to clean himself up, but he didn't quite get to his bloody hand. He eyes were staring at something else entirely. 

On his left forearm was a giant scar that hadn't been there when he'd woken up that morning. It looked like a hand print, except that couldn't have been it. How in the hell would he have gotten that? As Dean thought, it occurred to him that Castiel might have touched him in just that spot, moments before kissing him. 

Dean frantically pulled his overalls up and zipped them. No one could see that scar. How would he even begin to explain it? Dean schooled his face into what he hoped looked normal then he rushed out of the bathroom and into Bobby's office. The man looked up in surprise at the interruption. Dean never came out of the garage unless it was for food. Usually fixing cars was his happy place.

"Hey Bobby, I'm not feeling too well. Would it be cool if I skipped out?" Dean asked nervously, already fingering the keys in his pocket.

"You have racked up damn near 4 years of sick days," he said, standing. "And you don't look so good." he muttered. Dean forced a cough and shrugged his shoulders. 

"Yeah, I think I need some rest." 

Dean didn't have to try that hard to seem convincing. He hadn't missed a day of work in years unless Sammy was down visiting. And he knew he must have looked pale after what he saw in the bathroom. A giant fucking hand print that couldn't have possibly been real. Honestly, he was hoping he would go home and it would be gone. Then he'd be a little delusional, but he wouldn't be completely off his rocker. 

And he certainly wouldn't have been considering the idea that he'd actually died. 

"Right then. Off you go. I'll manage well enough without you," Bobby replied gruffly. He patted Dean on the shoulder then dropped down in his seat with a heavy sigh. 

"Thanks Bobby," Dean muttered, retreating quickly. It was irrational but he felt like if lingered, Bobby would see right through him. He knew Dean better than anyone else. An after affect of raising him. 

Inside the car, Dean couldn't bring himself to turn the key in the ignition. All he could do was stare out the windshield, all too aware of his arm. Quickly, Dean peeked in his jumpsuit at his arm and scowled at the mark that was still in place. In less than a month, Sammy would be coming down for the summer with Jess and Dean would have to be careful of covering up at the pool. It would raise questions. Questions he couldn't, didn't want to answer. Damn it, Castiel.

Wearily, Dean started the car and made the slow drive home, pointedly thinking of nothing. But as he made the climb up the three flights of stairs to his apartment, Dean could feel the urge to scratch at that wall, even though he knew nothing good could come of it. His front door slammed loudly behind him, like it always did, but for some reason it made him jump. 

His apartment was as neat as he'd left it. The small kitchen in the far left corner was spotless. The decently sized living room wasn't really decorated. There was the faded, old, brown leather couch. The tiny, scratched coffee table. The giant flat television. One bedroom sat just to the right of the door, the guest room. Then there was the small white bathroom where Dean pointedly did not check his arm again then growl in frustration. 

And his bedroom, his favorite place. 

Dean thought maybe he could find solace in this place, seeing as it was his sanctuary. There was the one remaining photo of his mother on his bedside table. Books piled on his desk. The old guns his dad taught him to shoot were hanging on the wall. And the best part, the memory foam mattress he'd splurged on. 

As he dropped onto his bed, not bothering to take off his clothes, Dean was sure it would relax him. But the moment his eyes closed, the only thing Dean could think about were those blue ones. That scowl. How damn formal the Castiel was. How unexpected the kiss was. How even though it had been his most painful experience, and he'd had a few, he would have been willing to relive it just for that first touch. 

It was maddening.

\-----

For 5 days, 12 hours, and 37 minutes Dean was haunted by those eyes. All of his memories from that day faded, but those blue eyes burned themselves into his retinas and he couldn't get them out. He couldn't go to work because he kept putting cars in worse shape then what they'd come in as. He began using up his sick days, which hurt worse than anything else. 

He tried to sleep, but then he only had nightmares. It was just he and Castiel standing on that abandoned street, talking in circles. Every question avoided. accusations dropped. He thought maybe they were dreams, because after all, all he wanted was to see the man again and drill him. Dean wanted to know everything. 

That was probably the train of thought that made him break. 

After five days of staring at walls and restless sleep, Dean realized that all he really wanted was answers. Definitive ones. And the only way to do that was to get Castiel during his operating hours, at work. He obviously worked with the dead so Dean just needed a dead body. He was in no way willing to go to jail for life just to get a few answers, so he thought of something much easier. 

Just off himself. 

Castiel had said it wasn't his time to go. It probably still wasn't, so he would most likely revive him. Or at least, Dean was telling himself that as he sat on his bed, pistol in hand. He wasn't a coward, he was more than willing to do what was necessary. He just needed to be absolutely sure that it was necessary. And after reliving the past week, how broken the man had left him, he knew it was. 

The first time he killed himself, Dean blew his brains out. 

\-----

"We really must stop meeting this way," Dean muttered as he stood. Castiel was standing in the doorway of his bedroom with the most disapproving glare Dean had ever seen. Honestly, it rivaled Bobby's. 

"Dean Winchester. Do you have so little regard for your life that you would throw it away on such a whim? Or have you decided that my existence is not difficult enough?" He asked, not moving. Castiel crossed his arms like he was really expecting an answer. Dean ignored him and stretched, amazed at how okay he felt. 

"Castiel is kind of a mouthful, do you mind Cas?" Dean asked, finally looking up at those eyes. They were just like he remembered. Except more confused. 

"You wish to bestow a nick name upon me? For what purpose?" Castiel subtly dug his hands into his pockets. 

"Well I imagine it would wear on me to have to keep saying your full name."

"You intend to continue ending your life. To what goal?" Castiel seemed to actually want an answer. There was genuine curiosity in his eyes, and Dean taken by it he almost forgot to respond. 

"Yeah, I just wanted some answers," he explained taking a hesitant seat on his bed and smiling brightly when it held him. Sweet. He stretched out, placing his hands behind his head, and grinned at Cas. He hadn't answered, but Dean figured since Cas hadn't shot it down that it was probably okay. 

"Very well. I have a moment or two before I have to be on my way. Ask your questions so I can return you." It was like a flip was switched and any emotion he might have shown was locked behind a door. Dean didn't quite understand the reaction, but he didn't waste any of his questions on it. 

"What are you, some kind of reaper?" Cas's lip twitched and he stepped inside, seeming to examine the room. Dean tried not to look at the drawers hanging open or dead body on his bed. He'd never had anyone in his room besides Sammy. 

"No. I am Death." Oh.

"So you're the big guy on campus. What makes me so special that I get the boss?" Dean asked, watching Cas trail a hand a few inches above his desk.

"Absolutely nothing." Cas said without hesitation. Dean tried not to acknowledge the sting he felt. Why did that hurt? "You just weren't meant to die, and I take care of those who need to go back personally."

"Do you know when I go lights out?" Dean asked out of morbid curiosity. Cas gave him the most perplexed look, Dean almost laughed. "When it's my time to go."

"Oh yes," Cas said, displaying his first tiny smile. Dean couldn't look away, even if the man was enchanted by his death. "But you are going to live a very full life first. You're going to help very many people, both directly and indirectly." Then Cas's smile faded. "But that is only if you stop with that dying nonsense." He turned away from Dean. He quickly tried to think of another question to engage the man. 

"Is it always going to hurt so much when you put me back? And what about that mark?" Dean had been avoiding thinking about it because he hadn't wanted to chicken out, but the idea of going through it again freaked him out a bit, and he didn't need more hand prints on his body. He was shocked to find that Cas looked embarrassed when he turned around to face Dean. 

"It doesn't have to. I was selfish and chose to leave you your memories despite the pain it would cause. I apologize. Your mark, however was unavoidable. All who are returned bear it. The only comfort I can offer is that I will not place a second one." Dean was certainly glad to hear that. He wasn't even sure what he was going to do about the first one. 

"It's fine Cas, I was buggin' you about your name and seeing you again. I get it." Cas seemed to visibly relax for a moment before approaching Dean. 

"I believe it is time for you to go. Would you like to keep these memories?" Cas asked hesitantly. Dean thought he almost looked hopeful as he gazed down at the dead man, but that couldn't have been right. 

He nodded, not wanting his lips to betray him. 

Without giving him time to change his mind, Cas bent down swiftly and pecked Dean on the lips. Dean noticed the man step back as the pain enveloped him. For a moment, he could think of nothing but the ice that was tearing him apart, then it was all black. His last thought was of Cas as he vanished in thin air.

\-----

It hadn't helped, the answers. 

Life became boring. A series of events until he could see Cas again. Dean didn't know why he was so star struck by the man. He was cold, and the only way to see him was suicide. And yet, Dean considered it a small price to pay, even if he knew it wasn't one he could pay often. He still had obligations to fulfill in the real world, after all.

So he forced himself to go through the motions, always seeing those blue eyes. He fixed cars, he joked with Bobby, he teased Sammy over the phone, he blasted his music. Then he went home to his empty apartment and told himself it wasn't the night. Dean liked to think he was a strong guy, but he only lasted about a week. 

6 days later, Dean found himself on his bed, once again staring at the pistol. 

\-----

"To what do I owe the pleasure this time?" Cas asked as Dean stood up and opened his eyes. He shook out his body and found Cas standing beside his dresser. 

"Just wanted to see you," Dean said honestly before he could help himself. Normally, he said whatever he thought people wanted to hear, but Cas was looking at him so curiously, it was disarming. 

"You just wanted to see...Death?" He tilted his head and Dean couldn't bite back his grin. 

"No, I just wanted to see Cas." There was most definitely a difference, he just hadn't pinpointed it yet. 

"I would prefer if you didn't," Cas said in that brutally honest way of his. Dean felt the smile slide off his face. He felt some sort of hope he hadn't known was there, slide away. 

"Oh." 

"It's just that I am an everlasting being. I will even out live God one day. So getting attached to anyone at all will do me no good. And you humans are so fragile. Even now I know exactly how your final death will happen, when it will happen. The more attached I get, the more painful it will be. It's an inevitability of my existence." Cas explained it all like he'd said it already a million and one times. He seemed so resigned to his fate. It was heart breaking. And yet, it somehow lifted Dean's spirits. 

"Is that all?" Dean asked with a laugh as he plopped down on the edge of his bed. He tried not to think about the God bit. He wasn't ready for that just yet. But immortality he could handle.

"Dean that is a relatively large problem." Cas looked at him with wide eyes. 

"Nah. You see the way I see it, someday you're going to be all alone. So why don't you enjoy good company while you can?" He shot Cas his most convincing grin. 

"I'm not sure that's for the best, but I suppose I can't help myself at this point," Cas said. He offered Dean a small grin that stopped his breath and took a seat beside him. Dean took notice of the small space between them and tried not to be disappointed by it. And as they sat in companionable silence, Dean knew he hadn't been that relaxed in weeks. There was a joke in there somewhere about seeking out Death.

"So what do you do when you're off duty?" Dean asked casually.

"Off duty?" Cas tilted his head in confusion. 

"You know, when you aren't working." Dean said, waving a hand. Cas's expression looked almost pained at the mention of it. 

"I don't receive any time off. I don't have a choice in that matter. It isn't as though people take a break from dying," he explained. Dean scoffed. That wouldn't stop anyone who really wanted a break. 

"Oh please, Cas. You're Death, you can do whatever you want. I'm sure your reapers would pick up the slack."

"In theory, they could continue without me, but it would be for such a short while, what would be the point? And what would I even do?" Cas stood and paced to the edge of the room, a frown on his face.

"You could get coffee with me sometime," Dean offered before thinking. 

He froze as the suggestion left his lips, mostly because he couldn't figure out where it had come from. Yeah, he wanted to hang out with Cas, and yeah, not having to kill himself would have been ideal, but had he meant for that to sound like a date? Well it didn't matter anyway. From the look on Cas's face, Dean was pretty sure the implication went over his head, like most of his references. 

Dean hated how it only added to his charm. 

"I think it's time you went back," Cas said, frown firmly in place. But as he approached, Dean stood quickly and backed up. His back hit his dresser halting his progress. 

"Wait a sec, Cas. Is that a no?" Cas hesitated, but not for long. After another second, he advanced on Dean. 

"I don't need to drink," he said softly, before pecking Dean swiftly. 

It may have just been wishful thinking, but Dean thought it was slightly less painful that time.

\-----

Dean found that the more time he spent with Cas, the more he wanted. His life had become a series of countdowns. Sam would be coming down to visit in 18 days. He had work again in one day. He could see Cas again in 5 days, the weekend. Logically, he could see Cas whenever he wanted. It wasn't like time passed when they met, but Dean had to set limits for himself or he wouldn't be able to stay in the real world. And a little part of him thought maybe Cas liked his space. 

So while he slid under cars and figured out why they were dripping or sputtering, he thought about his stupid coffee date. He knew Cas hadn't known it was a date, so technically he hadn't been rejected. But it still felt like a rejection. Cas had sent him away. And he'd barely even thought about it. Sure, there was a chance it wasn't possible, but if that was the case, why hadn't Cas said so? 

It was frustrating as hell and it only made Dean want to try harder. He'd never met any one like Cas before. He was cold and aloof, but Dean didn't think it was on purpose. He was just out of practice when it came to people. He was more than just Death, Dean could tell. And Cas did something to him when he set those eyes on Dean. Then there was the fact that he'd turned him down. 

Dean had never been rejected before. He couldn't wait to try again. 

\-----

Dean tied his jumpsuit and stretched, before stepping out of the garage and into Bobby's Office. Bobby looked up and raised an eyebrow at the long sleeve shirt he wore. It was out of character, but Dean had to cover up the huge scar Cas had left him with. If Bobby ever caught sight of it, the man would run him through the ringer. 

"Sit down boy, lunch is on me," he ordered, pulling two subs from his desk drawer. "You've been running out of here everyday like I ran over your dog."

"Sorry, Bobby. I've just been really busy," Dean said with a chuckle as he took a seat across from the older man. 

"Busy doin what? Isn't Benny visiting family?" Bobby ask before pouring himself a generous glass of whiskey. Dean gratefully accepted a glass and ignored the insult. Benny wasn't his only friend. He had Cas now.

"Haha, you're hilarious. Ever consider stand up?" 

"Nah, I could never be as funny as your sorry ass trying to distract me," Bobby said over his glass. Dean played dumb. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't. That's fine, I'll get it out of you eventually," he said surely. Dean didn't doubt it. 

\-----

Sam grinned down at Jessica and squeezed her hand tightly as they took their seats. There was already a large, balding man sitting at the window, sleeping. Jess looked over at him and bit her lip. She didn't have to say a word. She was nervous about meeting Dean. She wanted him to like her, Sam did too, but she had nothing to worry about. Dean was going to love her just as much as Sam did. Well, hopefully not just as much, he thought as he remembered where half of his girlfriends ended up. 

"He's going to love you," Sam reassured her, placing a small kiss on her forehead. 

Jess smiled softly and leaned her head on his shoulder. "I hope so." 

Sam looked down at her. Sometimes he couldn't believe he'd gotten so lucky as to end up with her. Jess was just so much better than him. She was smarter, sweeter, came from a good family. It was almost embarrassing how out of his league she was. But for some reason, she seemed to be crazy about him. It was a miracle. 

And he knew Dean would be just as excited as Sam was that they were coming early. Jess had finished her classes that Friday, 13 days early. He was going to be so surprised. Maybe a little pissed about the short notice, but happy none the less. And once he and Jess had hit it off, Sam would show him the little black box he had hidden in his socks in his luggage. 

\-----

The week dragged on and Dean almost cried in relief as he walked through his front door and dropped his jacket to the floor. He had been working all day and it was eleven at night, but he knew there was no way he was going to sleep. He priorities had been reset lately and sleep was no longer his favorite thing. He was going to see Cas. 

\-----

"What do I have to do to get you to go for coffee with me?" Dean asked as soon as he sat up. Cas was sitting beside him on his bed already, looking slightly less stiff than usual. 

"I don't require coffee. There is no logical reason for me to go," he said as if it had been rehearsed. Dean didn't put it past him.

"It would just be for enjoyment. Because you like spending time with me," Dean said, turning towards Cas and going out on a limb. Cas squinted his eyes at him. 

"So It would be like 'hanging out?'" Cas asked with air quotes. He actually did the fingers and Dean had to bite back a laugh. 

"No, It would be like a date." Dean felt the knots in his stomach form as Cas gazed at him in confusion. Well he wasn't saying no. 

"Someone has just entered your apartment. I highly doubt you wish for someone to find you in that state, I must return you," Cas said in frustration. He leaned forward, but Dean edged back. He really should have been worried about who was in his home, but he couldn't get off track. Cas was going to send him back. 

"Wait, give me an answer first." Cas stopped and nodded almost imperceptibly. 

"I will see you soon," he said, before leaning forward and pressing their lips together. 

If Dean's expression was one of excitement instead of agony, well, no one had been around to see it.


End file.
